I've been working in bookstores for a few years. Before, and quite a bit during I've also had jobs at random clubs downtown.The bookstore v.s. downtown night scene. Which one is the crazier work environment? I'd have to say it's a toss up.

Bookstore humor, located in our receiving room.

Working at night clubs I've listened to guys cry into their drinks over lost family members. I've consoled off-duty cops as they looked for stuff that was, and is, only quasi-legal.Working at a bookstore I was asked by someone in mourning if I wanted to see their recently deceased mom. I expected him to pull a photograph out of his backpack, not an urn. I watched book sales soar after a drunk off her ass drug addled author gave the worst reading of her career. I had only met her when she was helpful and engaging. Book sales after that event were 'normal'. The next time she was in town she was having, ehem, issues. Everyone wanted to know who the author was that bombed 'that one night', and buy her book. Insane.My gravitation towards crazy people has me questioning my own sanity. Is this just the occupational hazard of being a writer? Do you feel the same?I love comments!

Those of us who are kind tend to attract the crazies. A bombed author, could it be she is insecure? I'd never think to enhance my sales by imitating Dean Martin until now. Hhehe. Hope your dreams come true.Nancy

Ha! Not as much a hazard as it is an integral part of being a writer; we see and therefore share the colors beyond the black and white:-) You work in the perfect places to meet these kind of folks, though - gads!- an urn? Poor guy...The "bombed author" will have a difficult time living that episode down, eesh.If it's crazy to accept the exceptional, then we all are:-)

You're right, Diedre. Happens more often than not!James Ellroy was great. He was stone cold sober and opened with, "So there's a lion fucking a zebra..." Our store was completely packed with a mix group, too. People gasped. It was great. Epic even.